Page 6 of Time Out

He glanced at the bartender. Then me.

Ah. A guy who didn’t want to be honest. Not my first rodeo.

“I work for Nashville Steel.”

“Football team? Wasn’t there a game tonight?”

“Yeah. There was a game.” Another slight curl of his lips like he was hiding a secret and in no hurry to get to the punch line.

Usually it’d irritate me, but his lips were full and his teeth bright white and there were muscles in his arms that told me he probably could have easily taken out the asshole at Franco’s who grabbed my tits while saying, “I’ll give you a tip. And if you’re good, you’ll get more than just the tip.”

“So what are you? Their social media manager? Or do you work in their finance department?”

He was not. Couldn’t be. But I hadn’t felt the urge to flirt with anyone in months. Broadway brought out the worst in men. I’d seen it time and time again since moving there.

But this guy wasn’t on Broadway—he was at some off-street sports bar talking to the bartender like they’d been friends for years. Hell, maybe he was the guy’s son or something.

Not that I cared enough to ask. Truly.

A loud, booming laugh came from the other side of the bar.

The banker shot him a sheepish grin while scratching the back of his neck.

“Shut it, Lou.”

Ah, so the Santa Claus biker lookalike was Lou. Made sense. The place was his, which explained the belly on him.

“My daughters are going to love this. Hell, get your sister back on the phone. This will make her year.”

“You’re a pain in the butt, Lou.” Not-banker dude fidgeted in his seat, still grinning that sheepish smile when he swiveled on the stool in my direction. “I am, in a way, involved in their social media.”

He was lying. It came in the twitch of his left eye and that look that said he still had a punchline to deliver.

I was getting tired of being at the mercy of other people’s jokes, even if this was the most intrigued I’d felt toward anyone.

I shifted my attention to the bartender. “Lou, is it?”

“Yes, young lady?” He had a wide smile, slightly yellowed teeth, and lips that disappeared into his full beard.

“You want to tell me what I’m missing?”

“Better if I showed you.”

“Lou.” The guy groaned and dropped his face into his hand, elbow now propped on the bar.

Lou ignored him and grabbed the remote. In seconds, I was staring at the guy who had offered to buy me drinks, no expectations. Sweat beads pooled on his forehead with football pads on.

Oh my goodness. Bury me in the back parking lot. Lance would kill me for not knowing who this guy was.

That his name appeared beneath his smile, and a microphone was shoved into his face and the words Rookie Davis Hall scores three touchdowns in Monday Night Football Madness.

I turned to him, heat creeping up on my cheeks, and tried to salvage my dignity.

It was hopeless. Lance said his name almost as often as he told Belle he loved her, and he loved her a ton.

“I can see the resemblance,” I teased, bringing my beer to my lips.

He followed the action with a completely different look than was now behind him on the big screen. No wonder he had asked Lou to change the channel earlier.

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